


Aftercare

by sheep



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheep/pseuds/sheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After involuntarily exiting through a second story window, Clint needs a little help, not that he's willing to admit it let alone ask for it. It's a good thing Phil's always been the smarter one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #1: Sharing a Bath Together, over at CCBingo.

Clint wasn't usually jealous of Cap but after a 10 foot fall, half his body landing on a SUV before slowly sliding off its roof to land on the ground 5 more feet down? Clint would kill to be able to heal rapidly. Instead, the right side of his ribcage was so bruised and cracked in some areas that breathing alone made him debate his choice to continue doing so. If breathing was out, so was raising his right arm anymore than 5 inches from his body.

Two days of putting it off and now Clint sat at the edge of the bathtub, well hot tub posing as a bathtub. Normally, he'd be fine with just one arm. Years of training to eventually becoming ambidextrous were paying off but his right shoulder was already tense from the fall and two days of working exclusively with his left arm had made the ache creep along until his entire upper back was so stiff it hurt to lift either arm. It was a miracle he'd even been able to put on clothes this morning.

He needed a bath though, he just had no idea how to actually manage it. He wasn't sure his arms would even hold him up long enough to ease down into the tub at the snail pace his ribs required. First thing first, Clint stood and unzipped his hoodie, slowly, hissing as his muscles in his left shoulder sent a stabbing pain at the movement before settling into a dull but persistent ache. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, sweater hanging open as he worked up the courage to use his left arm again. If bringing it up only far enough to the zipper hurt like that, god knows what reaching all the way to his right shoulder would feel like.

As Clint took a steadying breath, the door to the bathroom opened. In the mirror's reflection, Clint could see Phil standing, shirtless, with an armful of towels and what looked like a jar of bath salt.

“Sorry babe, occupado. It might be a while too.” Talking of course hurt more than breathing. In the same mirror Clint could see the deep bruises peeking out from the sweater's edge.

“Don't be an idiot. I'd dare you to get in that tub by yourself but I don't think we want to risk putting you out of commission for any longer than you already will be.” Phil reprimanded, in the voice he usually only used on Hawkeye. Phil came further into the bathroom, closing the door before putting the jar and towels down on the counter.

As he futzed with them, Clint looked down at his barefeet before meeting Phil's gaze in the mirror. “You don't have to feel obligated; sleeping with me doesn't mean you have to be my nurse too.” Clint gave Phil the out but instead the older man just turned around, arms crossed with that look on his face that meant he was going to be an unmoveable wall on this point.

“Don't be an idiot and don't make me repeat that again, you know my thoughts on repeating orders.” Phil gave Clint a pointed look before picking up and opening the jar. As he walked over and poured the entirety of its contents into the water, he explained, “The Epsom salt should help with your shoulders. Now turn around.”

Clint complied, too bone weary to fight this battle today. As Phil started slowly stripping the sweater off Clint's shoulders, then arms, Clint kept his eyes forward, ignoring the mirror to their left. He was feeling far too self-conscious considering the fact this wasn't really their first time being naked around each other. Even before Bulgaria and whatever this thing of theirs was started, they'd shared a few decontamination showers. Clint shoved the feeling as deep and far away as he could, focusing instead on the feelinng of Phil's hands as they gently pulled the hoodie off before tossing it over by the sink. The brief absence before they returned, warm and tentative on Clint's waist, fingers resting on the top of Clint's ancient, threadbare sweats. Clint held his breath as Phil pushed them down low enough down for gravity to do the rest of the work. Stepping out of them, Clint let the other agent kick them away, towards the sweater. Clint stood there, awkward, listening to the sound of Phil quickly removing his own pants.

Clint hadn't even started to figure out how this was going to work when Phil's arm came under his left armpit and crossed his chest, hand gripped firmly on his right shoulder, neatly avoiding the collection of bruises a bit further down.

“Step into the tub, I've got you.” Slowly, they worked together, sidestepping into the tub in tandem. Clint forced himself to become mostly deadweight, shoulders to Phil's chest, as Phil lowered them down into the water. Clint could feel Phil's arm flexing over his skin, and hear Phil's controlled breathing, strong against the background of water gently sloshing against the sides of the tub.

The water was a bit too hot but Clint's body was already adjusting to it before he was even fully seated, Phil's body firm but comfortable against his back. His ribs protested, quieter than they had in a while, from the way they sat, barely pressed against Phil's chest and leg.

“Sink a bit further down so your shoulders are submerged.” Phil instructed and as Clint obeyed, ribs jarring only slightly with the movement, Phil gently pulled Clint further to the left so there was space between Phil's right leg and Clint's bruised side. The new position-- Clint's shoulders beneath the water, pressed firmly into Phil's chest-- meant his bruised right side wasn't pressed against Phil's chest either. Phil extracted his left arm from the interweaved-hold he'd used to get them in the tub. He returned it to a similar position, this time over Clint's left shoulder, across the chest just below the neck, hand cupping curve of Clint's right shoulder.

They sat like that a few long minutes, neither of them speaking. Clint couldn't stop his eyes from drifting close, comfortable enough to sleep for the first time since the fall. He wasn't sure how long he was out, seconds, minutes, but the feel of water trickling down his face woke him up, his body twitching in surprise.

Clint immediately regretted it, emitting an embarrassingly pathetic moan. As the pain subsided, he could hear Phil whispering apologies in his ears.

“I think that may be the first tactical error I've ever seen you commit.” Clint joked, pressing his head more firmly against Phil's chest, and rubbed it back and forth as much as his shoulder's would allow.

“Second.” Phil said without pause for thought.

“Oh, I see, the fact that I can't out run an explosion was your fault too. No wonder you're being so kind to me. What was with the wake up call anyway, I was busy sleeping.” Clint replied haughtily, steering the conversation anywhere but those awful few seconds.

“I was just trying to wash your hair.” Phil explained quietly, carding a hand through the hair in question.

“Well continue on then and make sure you give it a little bit of a massage while you're at it too.” Clint demanded in that annoying way he knew drove Phil insane but instead of a reprimand, or some deadpanned wit, all Clint got was a handful of water poured over his head.

With strong fingers, Phil would rub the water through Clint's hair and scalp, finger nails incidentally scratching the sensitive skin there. With a contented hum, Clint let his eyes close again, enjoying the sensation.

“This doesn't mean you should stop but water isn't going to clean my hair.” Clint pointed out after the fifth or so pass.

“No, but the salt will. Just lie back and as impossible as it sounds, stop talking. Your ribs will thank you.” Clint could feel the rumble of Phil's chest as the agent chastised him. Phil continued on for a few more minutes, before just letting his hand rest on top of Clint's head, fingers lightly scratching every so often. In return, Clint rubbed a knuckle on the back of Phil's leg before enduring the slight but far lesser ache to raise his left hand up and out of the water, resting it on top of Phil's knee, his forearm pressed against Phil's thigh. To the rhythm of Phil's fingers' against his scalp, Clint moved his thumb in a lazy figure eight against the side of Phil's knee.

Long minutes ticked away like this before Clint could feel the pull of sleep returning, stronger than before. He mustered up enough strength to mumble, “mmmsleep.”

“Fine, twenty minutes but then it's drying off, meds, and bed.” Phil bartered, as he scratched Clint's scalp one last time before moving his hand lower, beneath the water and his other arm, to rest on Clint's chest, right above his heart.

Clint drifted off, Phil's thumb tapping lightly on his chest seemingly in time with his heartbeat.


End file.
